


Scars

by Kona



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, F/F, Panic Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Right at the start of Mass Effect 2, Scars, Shepard is having a bad time guys, The Shepard/Liara is just a hint sorry, allusions to self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 20:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kona/pseuds/Kona
Summary: Eliza Shepard did not feel like herself.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Рубцы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702960) by [fandom_MassEffect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_MassEffect/pseuds/fandom_MassEffect), [MilvaBarring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilvaBarring/pseuds/MilvaBarring)



> Oh hey look, another rescue from the bin of half finished drabbles and one shots. This time for my poor Shepard, who I always imagined had a poor reaction to her suddenly perfect body at the beginning of ME2. So have some terrible angst and sad times. Sorry guys. Maybe I'll write happier things for my Shep again one day.

Eliza Shepard did not feel like herself. 

Doctor Chakwas had healed the remaining scars on her face, and declared her as healthy as she could be, but something didn’t feel right underneath her skin.

There was a thrum of something in her bones- _ cybernetic implants to help muscle growth and strength- _ that still felt off putting. There was the low biotic hum that she had never had before- _ brand new implants that took her once negligible biotic abilities to something far more potent- _ And of course there had been the scars-running angry and red across her skin, showing the fact that it wasn’t only blood flowing through her systems.

_ “Don’t worry Shepard, it’s just the last of the cybernetic regiments you were under settling in.” _

Shepard felt more machine than woman. 

Looking in the mirror felt like stepping back in time. The face before her looked younger, more rested than she remembered being in years. Her freckles seemed dimmed against her skin, her skin smooth and supple. The scar she’d gotten from one of the Thresher Maws on Akuze, the thin stripe running from her right ear to the center of her cheekbone was gone. 

That was the most jarring loss. The scars she’d earned. Suddenly feeling the loss anew, she ripped her clothes off with abandon and stared at the body in the mirror-feeling sick. 

The bullet wound in her gut that created the sunburst scar she’d earned on Virmire was gone. The omni-blade scar on her left shoulder that had looked like lightning against her skin-gone. The three claw marks from Azuke against her right thigh were replaced by toned muscle devoid of scar tissue. 

She wanted to scream.

Gone. Every memory. 

_ Gone. _

Her hands gripped the edges of the sink before her and she sunk to her knees with a shaky breath.

“My name is Eliza Shepard. I was born on April 11th. My service number is 5923-AC-2826. I serve on the SSR Normandy.”

She repeated that like a mantra, over and over again until she believed it.

Eliza Shepard. She is Eliza Shepard. 

Her fingers reached for the side of her face, thumb tracing where her scar used to sit. Her fingers shook. Her eyes squeezed shut as she remembered Liara’s fingers hesitantly brushing against the scar, curious smile on her face as she asked where it was from. 

She remembered congratulating Liara on her first scar, telling her that she’ll never forget the lesson she learned from it. She remembered all the times Liara’s fingers and lips would trace the raised skin on her body and, healing woes from long ago. 

She’d always imagined that if her dog tags disappeared, she would have her scars to have people identify her by. That the face of Eliza Shepard, a proud scar that earned her a medal and a promotion, could never be forgotten. 

This person in front of her was someone else. Someone foreign to her. Would any of her friends and comrades recognize her? If they didn’t know it was her, like Chakwas and Joker, would they know?

She knew there was a tactical knife in her kit-her new armor was still waiting on the edge of a prep table in these new (too  _ big _ ) quarters. 

The scar wouldn’t be the same. It’d be too thin-but there had to be  _ something _ she could do. 

She scrambled for the knife, still wearing naught but her undergarments. She took it in shaking hands, and made for the mirror again. One stripe against her cheek-that’s all she needed.

It’d be too  _ thin _ -her mind tried to rationalize. The burning whip of the Thresher Maw’s bits colliding with her face was wider. This would look fake. Too fake. Then they’re really think she wasn’t herself. 

_ She didn’t even know if she was herself. _

The tip of the knife dug into her skin, the pain sharp and sudden. It was enough to force clarity back into her mind and take the knife away from her face. Looking at herself, sweating, manic, blood running down the side of her face; She at least looked alive. A bit more like Eliza Shepard, whoever the hell that was anymore. 

She was bleeding. That made her more human than machine, right?

It was a start. A painful one.


End file.
